


flavour of forever just for the night

by orphan_account



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: (much less than my normal fics though), (that I don't wanna tag bc the author is assuredly not into bbs), (this was inspired by a dick/hal fic), Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Blow Jobs, Come as Lube, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fuckbuddies, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Pillow Talk, Reunion Sex, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25819417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Hey," John says, twisting to see him over the back of the sofa. His phone lays beside him, his blanket is tousled around his feet, and he looks - oh. He looks familiar, but not in the soft-hearted, tender reunion way Jaren was expecting.No, he looks familiar.A sharp little thrill runs through Jaren.John’s arousal is familiar to him, but it would barely have been noticeable if Jaren wasn't studying his face like a hawk. Meeting John’s eyes, it's plain as day to him."Hey," Jaren says right back.[title from '12345SEX' by UPSAHL]
Relationships: John | KryozGaming/SMii7Y
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	flavour of forever just for the night

**Author's Note:**

> This might be the most vanilla fic I've ever written. Huh.
> 
> Here's your backstory: they're superhero coworkers and fuckbuddies. No, the two don't overlap. John is trans and does not have/want bottom surgery. That's about it!
> 
> reminder: if you are a minor, please do not comment! I won't try to control what you read but it does make me uncomfy to interact with you on an explicit work. thank you!!

The BBS Tower has bedrooms tucked into the back of it. Small and impersonal, meant more for overnight healing and late work nights than anything long-term. Even if they’re technically free for anyone to use, everyone gravitates towards the same ones anyway, leaving photos in the drawers, a pair of clean clothes under the bed, just enough to stake a claim.

Jaren hadn't seen many people after he landed on the Tower, harried away into meeting with Vanoss and making sure all the medical treatment from the West Coast holds true under Brock’s standards. Under his own uncritical eye, Jaren’s side is fully healed now, not even scarred - thanks to some magical, possibly alien, remedies that Jaren doesn't want to think too hard about - and he had come through the airlock after the main business in the Tower was done for the day, just people wandering about before going to bed. 

The hallway is quiet when he steps out of his room. He’s settled in just enough, Grey, informal walls pass by him on his way to the kitchen at the opposite end. It feels a little like a walk of shame, creeping around after your parents have already gone to bed, the only sound his footsteps thudding softly on metal plates. Comfortably silent. It's late, East Coast time, probably near midnight, and most people have shuffled into their rooms by now, either to sleep or just to have time away from the bustle of superhero life. 

Jaren fills up a glass of water and downs half of it in one go. After some debate, he starts walking back to his room with it still clutched in his hand - technically against the rules, but Evan won't know anything if Jaren returns the glass in the morning. 

Halfway down the hall, he pauses in front of John's door. There's nothing to indicate if he's in the Tower or not. Jaren hasn't seen him today, but he can count the full-humans he's seen today on one hand, so it doesn't mean much. 

He knocks. Worth a try. 

Something rustles inside. 

"Who is it?" John calls. His voice washes over Jaren as warmly as slipping into a bath. 

"Jaren." He leans his forehead against the door.

"Come in." 

Jaren opens the door - unlocked, to his surprise. Maybe on purpose. He steps in and closes it behind him. 

"Hey," John says, twisting to see him over the back of the sofa. His phone lays beside him, his blanket is tousled around his feet, and he looks - oh. He looks familiar, but not in the soft-hearted, tender reunion way Jaren was expecting. 

No, he looks familiar. 

A sharp little thrill runs through Jaren. 

John’s arousal is familiar to him, but it would barely have been noticeable if Jaren wasn't studying his face like a hawk. Meeting John’s eyes, it's plain as day to him. 

"Hey," Jaren says right back, and drops the sentence. 

John huffs out a laugh and runs a hand through his hair. "Look, I was about to have some alone time, so make it quick, Jaren," he says, meaningful emphasis in the middle, giving Jaren a look. 

Jaren's breath catches sharply, audibly,  _ noticeably _ in his throat, and he watches John's eyes drop down his body and run the full length back up. 

"You want a hand with that?" Jaren asks. John swallows. His throat bobs.

It's the first time they've ever really spoken it aloud, so plainly, suspended in the thick tension sitting between them. It's different, somehow, when it's asked with words from an uncertain mouth, when it's not just suggested by wandering hands. 

"How about a mouth?" John asks, one eyebrow raised, and all the air punches out of Jaren in a soft  _ oh _ . 

Oh, it's even more different when John has to answer with words and not with touch. Oh, it's _ so _ fuckin’ hot. 

"Whatever you want," Jaren says, and means it. 

"Lock the door," John replies, and leans back against the sofa. 

Jaren does exactly that, toes off his shoes, circles the sofa, puts his forgotten glass on the coffee table, answers the hands tugging at his hips and straddles John. They fit together so easily, bodies slotting and relaxing into each other, hands on his body and in his hair, lips on his and down his neck, echoing each other and compounding like sound waves. John runs hot underneath him -- a super thing or a human thing? Jaren can’t dedicate any space in his brain to it right now -- shivers when Jaren kisses under his jaw, when he skates his palm down his shirt, when he rolls his hips just to feel John's fingers respond. 

God, Jaren missed this. Missed John. Missed a lot of other things, too, a lot of things that John is busily reacquainting him with, like the firm hand in his hair and the insistent fingers at his waistband, like the press of familiar kisses and sharp flares of desire deep in his belly. Jaren goes to untie John's sweats, finds it already undone, shivers hot with the implication that John already started. 

John gasps when Jaren shoves his hand underneath the fabric. Grunts when Jaren's fingertips find hotter, softer skin, pants openly against his mouth when Jaren strokes. 

Oh, he definitely already started. Jaren can feel the touch of spit that John likes, can hear him suck in a shuddering breath and nod into the curve of Jaren's neck. Jaren buries a quiet sound in his unruly hair, feels his own sweats tighten in the crotch that extra little bit. John runs a hand down to press his palm to a different sort of curve, easily rolls his fingers over Jaren's balls in a dirty tease. Fuck. 

John squeezes him, filthy. Jaren pants loudly, rubs circles, feels John shiver all over again, hips lifting the slightest amount. 

To Jaren's surprise, John's other hand wiggles down into his own underwear, beside Jaren's. He gently takes Jaren's fingers and urges them up, out of the sweats - Jaren pulls back and watches, rapt, as John brings them up to his mouth. He fixes Jaren with a heated look and slowly licks up his middle and ring fingers. 

Jaren makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and John chuckles behind Jaren’s hand. Squeezes Jaren's cock again over the fabric. 

John guides his hand back down, his own with it, but when he presses Jaren's fingers to his cock he doesn't stay there. He shifts them a little lower - showing Jaren, Jaren realises, mapping it out for him, and a horse couldn't kick this much air out of his lungs. He still isn't sure what John's doing, but - 

Jaren's finger touches skin a lot more yielding. He whines helplessly behind his teeth, can't break John's gaze. John is blushing uncharacteristically hard, plumes of red on his cheeks. 

"Want your fingers," John murmurs, eyes searching Jaren like Jaren's the one who could conceivably be uncomfortable with this.  _ Fuck. _ He'd do anything John fucking asked. 

"Jesus," Jaren whispers, experimentally wiggles the tip of his finger. Slides it in another half-centimetre when John's hand leaves to give him room. "You sure?" 

John nods. His nose brushes Jaren's cheek with the movement. 

"Just the two," he breathes, and it's Jaren's turn to nod. John shifts his hips, lets Jaren slide his finger in a little more. He watches John's blush deepen impossibly more. 

Instead of saying all the things he shouldn't, Jaren kisses him - too hard, at first, but a hand cradles the back of his head and teeth dig into his lower lip and he moans, hot and wanting and grateful when John gets his palm back on him, still just over the fabric, just teasing, which is probably for the better because Jaren already feels dizzy with how hot it is, at the little noises John makes when he sinks his finger in all the way, when he thumbs his cock - oh god, John makes a sound that'll feature in Jaren's daydreams forever at that, a quiet, stifled groan that reverberates through Jaren's teeth. 

Jaren braces his other hand on John's shoulder while he grinds against his hand, sighing at the relief, at the pressure, good and heady and turning his blood to syrup in his veins, thick and heavy and sweet. Fuck, he could do this for hours, melt in John's hands while he thumbs at him, while he slides his finger out halfway and back in to a chorus of shivers and whispered noises, to the tune of fingers flexing in his hair, a hint of a tug on his scalp. 

John slips his hand into Jaren's underwear. Stars explode behind Jaren's closed eyelids, his syrupy, slow bloodstream kicked up to something like lava, hot and molten and liquid fire heating him up unbearably, all over, familiar calluses and a firm grip, a slow twist around the head that makes him swallow the name on his tongue and pant out a curse instead, shudder visibly. John's hips lift up against his hand again, rubbing against his thumb, his finger - Jaren whines at the new slick he can feel when he pulls his finger out, not much but enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. 

Jaren presses his ring finger to John, a question. 

"Aw, fuck," John moans, nods, answers. Shakes at the next brush of Jaren's thumb to his cock, bites back a sound as Jaren eases his finger in. 

Jaren experiments as best he can with only half his brain to work with - the other half is drowning in the hand on his dick, in John's warm, sure hold, in the heated, biting kisses he layers down Jaren's jaw, up to his mouth, broken only by panting. John reacts best to the short, snappy thrusts, the ones where Jaren hardly pulls out half an inch before pushing back in, rocking more than thrusting. It keeps Jaren's thumb close at all times, rubbing in clumsy, uncoordinated circles. 

John's cock twitches against the pad of Jaren’s thumb. Jaren's never been patient. 

"Wanna blow you," he pants. "Wanna - " 

"Fuck," John moans, whines. "Yeah, yes, please - " 

John moans again when Jaren starts urging his sweats off, deep and full-throated. Jaren keeps his fingers buried in John as he carefully climbs down onto the floor, tugs the sweats and underwear over John's spread knees, lets them pool at his ankles. He crowds in close, familiar, and he misses John's hand but the sight of this is almost better, seeing his cock twitch when Jaren rocks his fingers again. He holds his thumb away, looking up the length of his body to see John blush all over again, watching, touching, hands threading their familiar way into Jaren's hair. 

Jaren kisses John's thigh and curls his fingers up on a hunch, shifts over a centimetre, rubs - 

"Shit," John hisses, hips jolting. "I'm close, Jaren, I'm - " He breaks off into another sharp moan when Jaren rubs again, moving half to distract John and half to distract himself from the use of his name, a break of a clause of their ‘never acknowledge it’ agreement that bolts through Jaren like lightning. 

He doesn't waste any more time toying with John, licks up his cock and seals his lips around it and sucks in filthy time to the presses of his fingers, forgoing thrusting for this new sensation, new reaction, for John's stuttery groans above him, for the way he pulls on Jaren's hair with both hands, fucks his mouth in pleading, rolling thrusts. Jaren moans liberally, gives John a vibration to rub against while he pushes insistently inside him, slick joining the drip of spit from Jaren's chin. A shake settles in John's whole body, spurred on by Jaren's fingers and tongue, an abrupt noise pulled from his throat - 

"Oh,  _ oh _ , oh _ fuck, _ I'm - ah - I'm gonna come, Jaren, I'm gonna - _ fuckfuckfuck _ \- " 

John keens, and pants, and the shake turns into a shudder, continuous and strong and his thighs are trembling on either side of Jaren - Jaren sucks harder, rubs faster, undulates the flat of his tongue - 

John comes with a cry, holding Jaren's head in place while he shivers, shakes, head tipping back against the sofa, hips grinding desperately against Jaren in jerky stops and starts. Jaren drools on him, can't help it, shifts his fingers again, flushes hot all over at the sound of it, noticeably slicker than before. He shudders between John's legs and presses a desperate hand against himself, pushes through the ache in his tongue to keep licking at John's cock, feel it twitch, feel John clench around him, moaning quietly when John fists his hair to keep him in place while shudders melt into shakes, melt into shivers, into trembles, a fine layer of sweat between Jaren's cheeks and John's skin, now. 

John looks thoroughly undone above him, panting hard and still racked with the occasional shiver. He lifts his head to look down at Jaren, flushed down to the throat, muffles another small whine behind his teeth when Jaren rocks his fingers again. Licks him. Sucks, and John judders. 

Jaren slowly withdraws his fingers. They're wet, shining in the light of John's room. Jaren's breath trips on the exhale. 

"Fuck, you’re so good," John pants, combs a hand through Jaren's sex-mussed hair. Jaren licks a stripe up his cock and leaves it with a kiss. Doesn't get much further, drops his head on John's thigh with a huff and grinds forward into his hand - 

"Oh, no you don't," John says, and slides his hands down to Jaren's shoulders to urge him up on the sofa - instead of on his lap, like Jaren’s anticipating, John encourages him onto the sofa beside him, pushes him down to lie on it, one foot on the floor, head on the armrest, and climbs over him, dips down for a dizzying kiss that makes Jaren whimper with want, hands clutching at anything he can grab, at John's shirt, at his arms, anything that'll let him fuck up against him. 

John kisses him with a chuckle, drops it heavy behind Jaren's teeth and leaves it there as he crawls down Jaren's body, smooth like his sweats aren't still around his fucking ankles. He tugs Jaren's own sweats and underwear down and wraps a hand around his cock to make it level with his mouth. Jaren swears foully and loudly. Slides a hand into John's hair, pushes it out of his eyes, stupidly handsomely dark and twinkling with mischief. 

Then John takes Jaren's come-slick hand and drags the wet fingers up his own cock, follows it with his tongue, doesn't break eye contact, filthy, obscene. 

Jaren moans like he's been punched in the chest. Pleads afterwards, in murmurs, in  _ please, please, John, please _ and shudders at the answer. 

John looks good down there, fuck, sinking down steady and wet and pulling up to lick around the head like Jaren's a lollipop, sucks with neat swallows, closes his eyes and hums, uses his spit to slick up the lower half - Jaren whimpers quietly, softly, curls his fingers in John's hair but doesn't guide him, can't, can only follow as John bobs on him, cuts straight to the chase, lips tight and tongue firm, fuck, no room for Jaren to move, just to lay there and take it, trembling down to his bones with the sensation, with the sight, already an afterimage on his eyelids when he briefly closes them. 

Fingers shove up his shirt, dig into his hip; John pops off to pant, licks and bites messy up Jaren's abdomen while stroking him, murmuring incoherent nonsense against Jaren's skin. The sound rumbles through Jaren and ratchets up his nerves by a steep notch, nerves that were already haywire and frenzied from the build-up, already desperate, frantic, driven needy like John always makes him. 

He kisses back down and sinks down on Jaren like it's nothing, groans, follows Jaren's hips when they buck up involuntarily at the vibration, a helpless and pleading moan tumbling from his lips. Can't stop rocking up, short little things that John moves easily with, that shove him just a little further in - Jaren bumps the back of John's throat and John just hums, opens his eyes to look up at him, and the tingling heat dripping down his spine suddenly tightens and spring-coils, barely a chance to babble - 

"John, John," Jaren manages, and tries to pull his head off, but John doesn't move, dark eyes burning into his own, and Jaren comes a half-second later, straight over his tongue, moaning through his teeth and slamming his eyes shut against the force of it. 

When he opens them again, John's dragging his tongue over Jaren’s cock slowly, thoroughly, rising up to suck only on the head and swiping his tongue over Jaren's slit to catch any more. His hand strokes lazily underneath, wringing out all the hazy, shuddery aftershocks. Jaren coughs out another, weaker moan and thumps his head back on the armrest to watch the ceiling swimming above him. He blinks, and it stills once more. John takes his time cleaning him up, pops off to smooth it over with his hand, but it's barely a handful of moments before Jaren has to pull him off, already oversensitive at the head. 

John politely pulls his clothes up and tucks him in. Jaren can barely get his brain in gear to sit up. Turns out he doesn't need to, when John tugs his own sweats back up and settles on his elbows above Jaren, dips his head so his lips hover above his, barely touching. 

Jaren smooths a hand down his back and kisses him. Open-mouthed, but not sloppy, just nice, kissing the taste out of John's mouth until all he can taste is John. John lowers himself to press them together, chest to hip, and makes a small, satisfied noise in the back of his throat, a sentiment Jaren echoes with a tiny hum. 

John moves to pepper kisses down his neck, indulgently, taking his time rolling his teeth around a mark under Jaren’s collarbone. Jaren still hasn’t figured out whether he does it because he wants to know he’s marked Jaren, or just to hear the whimper bubble low in Jaren’s throat. 

"How was Los Santos?" he asks, murmurs, still playing with Jaren’s delicate, purpling skin. 

Jaren huffs out a shade of a laugh. "Routine," he replies, equally hushed. 

"Glad to see you back in one piece." Pressed into his skin with a kiss. 

Jaren realises, belatedly, that this is the first time they've been in such close proximity with all of the lights on. He opens his eyes to watch John's sun-lightened hair fall through his combing fingers, to study the curve of his spine, watch his shirt cling and fall away from his chest with his breath. 

"For you," Jaren says. John raises his head to look at him. Eternity passes in the seconds between them. John's eyes are hauntingly, beautifully golden when the light hits them right, and there's an array of emotions in the faint furrow of his eyebrows. Jaren feels like he's just nosedived at Mach 1 - fallen too far, too fast, and dizzy from it. 

Jaren closes his eyes and kisses him before either of them can say anything more. It's too much, under the lights, too much, sober, too much, this close. He pretends to imagine the much softer, much sweeter kiss John presses to his lips. Pretends to imagine how he returns it in kind. 

Jaren's lips tingle numbly when they eventually part. John helps him sit up on the sofa. He takes a drink from his long-forgotten water. John runs a hand through his hair. 

"Glad I didn't ruin a shirt for once," Jaren says, smoothing a hand down the front of it. "I still gotta walk back to my room." 

John laughs, bright and bubbly. 

"I'll have to fix that next time," he says, looking Jaren up and down. "Can't ruin my reputation." 

Next time. Jaren breathes in the words and lets them warm him all over. 

"When do you go back down?" he asks.  _ When will you put yourself into the line of fire next. _

"Tomorrow morning." 

"Ha, see you there." 

John nudges his ankle. "Looking forward to it." 

**Author's Note:**

> This is supposed to be the first time John asks Jaren to finger him, and Jaren's just uh. AHHHH


End file.
